


SPLORCH!

by okapi



Series: SPLORCH 'verse [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alien Egg Laying, Aliens, Baskerville Research Facility, Eggs, Episode: s02e02 The Hounds of Baskerville, Extremely Dubious Consent, Inspired by a Sex Toy, M/M, Object Insertion, Oviposition, Restraints, Sexual Fantasy, pre-Mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 11:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4623858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade confesses a fantasy. Mycroft, well, he does love to be dramatic. Please heed the tags!</p>
            </blockquote>





	SPLORCH!

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this sex toy: [Primal Hardware's ovipositor, Splorch](https://www.primalhardwere.com/category/ovipositors).

“Detective Inspector…”

“Mr. Holmes, I was just going to call you. I wanted to say thanks again for the ride last night. If you hadn’t come along, I’d probably still be passed out in that alley.”

“Not at all. I was pleased to be of assistance.”

“How you knew I was there, I am not going to speculate.”

“Would you believe I was just in the neighbourhood?”

“Nope, but I’m so grateful that you took the time to rescue my drunk arse from a night of cuddling with rubbish, I don’t care. I know that you’ve got much more important things to do.”

“Your safety is of utmost importance to me, and I am not so severe as to judge a hard-working, dedicated public servant for using his very limited allotment of leisure to blow off some steam. I take it that you and Doctor Watson enjoyed the film festival?”

“Yeah, old B movies, sci-fi, monster stuff. It was great and so were the pints afterwards. Um, Mycroft… may I call you Mycroft?”

“It would please me greatly. And I may call you…”

“Greg. Or Lestrade.”

“Gregory?”

“Uh, a little like my Gran, but okay. I also want to apologize, I know I talked a lot of bollocks on the way home. I don’t remember much, but I think it was about aliens…”

“You seemed quite fascinated by the subject.”

“Have been since I was a kid.”

“You spoke in rather animated tones about the possibility of encountering extra-terrestrials.”

“Really? Did I, um, go into detail?”

“You expounded on your own merits, and mine, as potential test subjects for experimentation on the part of, shall we say, foreign visitors.”

“Shit! I am so sorry that you had to listen to all that nonsense.”

“Your low estimation of your own value was the only alarming portion of the discussion.”

“Ha! Well, I seriously doubt that of all the billions of creatures inhabiting this planet a gaggle of super-sentient beings are going to select a sad, paunchy, middle-aged copper to propagate their race!”

“So you said…”

“Rubbish, all of it. Well, uh, thanks again. Wait a minute, you called me.”

“Yes, though I am loathe to ask because I know it will press upon your good will and your precious free time, I have a request.”

“No harm in asking. I’m guessing it’s about Sherlock.”

“Yes, he and Doctor Watson have gone to Dartmoor for a case. He has used my credentials to gain access to a military facility called Baskerville...”

“He steals your badge, too! Wanker!”

“Quite.”

“Baskerville? Isn’t that where Big Foot and the tiny green men are housed?”

“It’s a military research centre for chemical and biological weapons, so you understand my concern. I cannot leave my current dealings at the moment to follow-up in person; I was wondering if I might prevail upon to you travel there and ensure that all is well.”

“I’m not Sherlock’s handler!”

“No, but the number of people to whom I would entrust such a task are very, very few. You could consider it a short, but well-deserved, holiday, courtesy of the Holmes estate. I would urge you to spare no expense in your personal comfort.

“Hmmm. I’ve got the weekend off. It might be nice to get London out my lungs. Okay.”

“Excellent. Anthea will forward you the particulars.”

* * *

“Gregory...”

“Mycroft! Thank you! This has to be the most expensive bottle of liquor that I've ever held in my hands.”

“A small token of my appreciation.”

“Well, you are very welcome. Glad to put the whole hell hound business to rest.”

“Yes, well, I’m afraid…”

“Oh no…”

“The gas to which you were exposed in Dewer’s Hollow. It is not as innocuous as first believed.”

“Oh Christ. What is it?”

“That’s the problem. The components cannot be identified. Secondary reports are suggesting that the compounds are…not of an Earthly source.”

“WHAT?!”

“Ridiculous. That’s why I’m sending my own hand-selected team down to Baskerville to re-run the testing, but that will require new samples. If you would proceed to Baskerville and furnish those, then we can get to the bottom of this mystery…”

“’Not of an Earthly source.’ Does that mean…?”

“It means that I’m very disappointed in our nation’s capacity for thorough, scientific analysis. Nothing more. Please put any fantastical notion out of your head.”

“Easy for you to say. You weren’t sprayed with E.T. juice! Alright, I’m on my way.”

* * *

Greg pulled up to the gate. He lowered the car window and flashed his badge.

“Detective Inspector,” said a uniformed guard. “Please proceed to Area 51. Just follow the signs.”

He nodded and drove on. “Area 51. Nothing strange about that,” he muttered. “Nothing at all.”

Just as Greg reached the hangar, wide doors opened. He parked the vehicle and stepped out. He was approached by two masked figures.

“Uh, hello, I’m…” 

* * *

Greg blinked. The room was dark. He tried to move but found his arms and legs spread wide and bound to a surface. He groaned.

Then he saw four ovals glowing overhead.

Holy. Fuck.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out more of his surroundings.

The four ovals were eyes. Staring at him. Two grey figures loomed. Bulbous heads, thin necks. Grey skin.

HOLY. FUCK.

“Oh my God,” he breathed. “Oh my God! Oh my God!”

There was a hand on his heaving chest. An eight-fingered hand.

“Oh my God!”

He fought against his restraints. The two figures looked at each other and then back at Greg.

“Is this a hallucination?”

The hand moved to his cheek and down his neck. It was like shark skin, smooth along one gradient and sandpapery along the opposite, but very real.

Not a hallucination.

Greg looked down. He was still dressed. “What do you want?” he asked. The eyes vanished. “What do you want?!”

Greg turned his head. One of the figures, the taller one, was standing at a set of controls. The other was unfurling a sheet and allowing it to settle over Greg’s body.

Then a blue horizontal light appeared and moved up his body.

Scanned. He was being scanned.

He watched as the light passed over him. Then he heard beeps and whirls from the side of the room. A screen flashed to life near the controls.

There was Earth. Zooming closer, Europe. A multitude of dots. Then closer, Britain. And finally one dot. Blinking red. The two figures exchanged excited chirps.

“What? What?”

The taller figure chirped into a microphone and a flat electronic voice said,

“ **You. Are. Prime.** ”

“Me? Prime for what?”

More chirping.

The shorter figure exited the room. He returned with a tray. In the dim light, Greg could make out…

…eggs.

“ **Oviparity.** ”

“Oh my God! Oh my God!”

The taller figure looked at the shorter one and nodded. The tray was placed on a small table and rolled beside Greg. The light directly overhead grew brighter; he studied the objects on the tray. A transparent carton containing three small, beige-coloured eggs; a tube that looked like a short, thin elephant snout; and a bottle of something clear.

When Greg looked up, he realized the figures had disappeared.

He struggled to wrap his mind around the idea.

Aliens were going to put eggs inside him. Aliens had selected _him_.

“Oh God.”

He was getting hard. Oh, no. No, no, no. He should not be getting hard. What kind of sick fuck was he? Would they notice? Would they care?

The light dimmed, and two glowing eyes returned. Chirping.

“ **Accept?** ”

“What?! It’s not like I can say ‘no,’ is it?” His erection was now pressing uncomfortably against his trousers.

“ **Accept?** ”

“Yes! Yes!” He was going to hell. That was certain.

The room went completely dark. Greg watched a pair of eyes float towards him. Hands were moving beneath the sheet, removing his clothing. When the restraints were relaxed, the hands gently rubbed his wrists and ankles. There was a fifth, slightly looser, restraint—which Greg had just now noted—belted across his waist, keeping him firmly locked to the table.

In the course of removing his pants and trousers, a hand brushed his now-fully engorged cock. Greg’s whole body twitched, and a quiet moan escaped him.

Hell. Hell is what awaited him. This should not be arousing, but it was. It was his deepest fantasy brought to life.

He was being turned on his side and re-restrained and oh, Christ.

He was being cleaned. _Inside_. To prepare for the eggs.

“Oh, God,” he moaned. He felt dampness on his thigh and knew that his cock must be leaking generously by now.

He felt a warm towel drying him and then something was probing him. Oh God. Stretching him.

 _To prepare for the eggs_.

The stretching continued, slow, almost painfully slow. By something. Whatever it was, it brushed his prostate once, and Greg’s hips bucked.

“Please, um, could I get a hand free? Please!” he begged. He needed to find release.

There was a heavy hand on his shoulder and then a swathe of linen wiping the sweat from his brow.

Finally, the light rose directly over the table. Greg forced one eye open. He saw the tube being generously coated with a clear gel. And then he saw the eggs dropped into the tube.

“OH GOD!”

The lights went out again.

He felt the probing. “Please!” he cried. Suddenly, the palm of his far hand was being slathered with something, and then it was set free. He grabbed his cock as the tube entered him.

An electronic voice echoed.

“ **You. Are. Prime**.”

Then there was a noise.

SPLORCH!

One. Two. Three. The eggs were inside him.

He was full, too full, and his hand was pumping furiously, slicked by the gel. The tube was removed. He felt the oozing and came with a shout.

“ **You. Are. Prime**.”

Greg lay panting, unable to move, for some time. Then he turned his head and saw the eyes staring. They looked almost…

…concerned.

Ridiculous.

The dribbling had slowed.

His free wrist was bound again, and he was being cleaned. Inside and out. Then he was being turned on his back and cleaned more. Washed and dried. The sheet was removed, and a heavy blanket took its place. As the fog in his mind began to clear, a wave of panic hit.

Now what?

* * *

The lights were coming up.

“Gregory.”

Greg turned his head. The alien stood by the table, hands clasped in front of him.

“Mycroft?!”

The alien nodded.

Holy. Fuck.

“Gregory, you are the finest specimen of a human being that I have ever had the good fortune to meet. And I was wondering if you would do me the honour of having a drink with me.”

Greg began to wheeze. “This is your idea of courtship?!”

“Not good?”

“A BIT!” Greg sighed and looked around. “I usually make an alien buy me a drink _before_ they lay their eggs in me, but…”

Mycroft began unfastening the restraints. “The other evening, you were quite explicit about your fantasy, its features and its allure.”

“And you decided to make it a reality?”

“When the concern regarding Sherlock arose, I considered it an opportunity…”

Greg sat up, holding the blanket around his waist. “You do love to be dramatic.”

Mycroft nodded.

“You’re, uh, human in there, right?”

Mycroft removed a glove and wiggled a very human, five-fingered—Greg counted—hand. “Yes, I’d prefer not to reveal myself entirely. It’s, uh, quite warm in here and one’s coiffure does suffer…”

Greg laughed and shook his head. “Uh, I’ve got questions.”

“Of course.”

“The exposure?”

“A ruse to lure you here. It is as benign as originally thought. Once it’s been excreted, there will be no long-lasting effects.”

“Well, I think you’ve taken care of the excretion process pretty thoroughly. And, uh, there were two of you in the beginning.”

“There are very few people to whom I would trust this task.”

Greg’s eyes widened. “Anthea!”

“Lord, no! Can you imagine?”

Greg stared. “John. Oh my God! Will I ever be able to look at him again?! It’ll be all over the Yard!”

“I think you’ll find Doctor Watson very sympathetic as well as the soul of discretion. In return for assisting me with my theatrics, I assisted him with his.”

“Wait? He’s got the same fantasy?” Silence. “OH MY GOD! SHERLOCK?”

“Doctor Watson’s script had much more retributive quality. Something about payback for some tainted sugar?”

Greg huffed. “Remind me to never get on _his_ bad side.”

“Indeed. Gregory, I meant what I said. I consider you to be an exceptional human being and the lengths to which I would go to demonstrate my regard are not insignificant.” He waved to the room around them.

“And it doesn’t bother you that I got off on this?”

“Not at all. That was the objective.”

Greg sighed. “Well, this is fucked-up in a thousand different ways, but I did have the best orgasm of my life, and, um, I do have a very fine bottle back at the inn, so if you’re interested…”

Mycroft looked up. “Splendid!” He scurried around the room and set Greg’s clothes in a neatly-folded stack beside him on the table. “I will meet you at your vehicle momentarily.”

“Uh, Mycroft?”

Mycroft turned.

Greg held up the tube. “Mind if I keep this?” He coughed. “As a souvenir, of course, not that I’d want to, uh …”

The oval eyes glowed.

“By all means.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
